


Make a Life

by ChettaDrabbles (KOranges)



Series: Some Wounds Take Longer to Heal [2]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Child Death, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pain, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 12:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11207655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KOranges/pseuds/ChettaDrabbles
Summary: It's the next day. Steve doesn't hate the idea of taking the day to lounge around the house but a certain someone won't get off his porch and there are two very good reasons Bucky isn't allowed inside.





	Make a Life

**Author's Note:**

> Each of these drabbles are inspired by a prompt I received during an eight month long writing challenge. I'll only be sharing my favorites but every Tuesday & Thursday and I'll post a new one. The next several are going to be a connected series.
> 
> Prompt:

Steve woke up the next morning with his head pounding as if he’d drank three bottles of tequila. It pounded in throbbed in ways it hadn’t since the weeks after Bucky left him. He was older, and apparently weaker, because the speed with which he trudged to the medicine cabinet for aspirin was absolutely glacial. Crying always left him with the nastiest headaches. 

The coffee was already on, starting on a schedule just for moments like this, and filling up the little carafe a little more slowly then he would like. It was less than half full. He’d woken up too early. Way too damn early. 

But that was life with kids. 

The twins were a surprise. A good one. The best one. Wanda and Pietro had been a find by Natasha, the attorney that had found Mikhail for Steve and Bucky. It had been just a couple years later. Natasha was his friend by then and had approached him with the utmost care to be a foster dad. It had been a difficult decision to make in a difficult time in his life. But now. Now they were everything that was bright and amazing and wonderful about his life. 

They were why Bucky Barnes wasn’t ever setting foot in this house. He didn't care if he thought it was cute that Bucky had brought wine and snacks. He didn't care that he wanted him. Steve needed one damn good thing in his life that wasn't touched by the pain of Bucky's memory. 

“Daddy, did we wake you?” Wanda was sitting on Pietro’s lap in front of the TV. 

“We tried to be quiet.” Pietro whispered. 

“You’re fine.” Steve smiled. “I see you started breakfast without me this morning.” 

Pietro giggled and put his hands over his face. Then he stuck his hand back in the cereal box that Wanda had climbed on his lap to hide. Caught red handed, she didn’t bother moving but reached out her hand to snag some Cheerios for herself. 

“How about I join in an we have a sick day?” Steve asked. The twins looked trilled. 

“Does that mean no day care?” Wanda cheered. Steve grinned. 

“That it does.” He told her. She stood and did a happy dance, sending the Cheerio box tumbling. 

This wasn’t something he typically did. He was a single dad. His job was the sole source of income in their house and while he did well- more than well the past couple years, if he was being honest- he was still responsible for providing. Being a freelancer typically meant he had to be strict to work even when he didn’t want to. But today called for the bending of the rules. 

“Now that the Cheerios are gone.” Steve picked up the now empty box and sighed. “Who wants some breakfast?” 

The cheer was earsplitting. “Yes, please.” 

“What should I make?” He asked them. They both made a show of thinking. 

“Make me some pancakes.” Wanda commanded. 

“Make me some French Toast.” Pietro decided, clearly just deciding to be different. Steve snorted. 

“I think I’m going make everyone pancakes.” Steve decided. They both cheered. Loudly. Steve couldn’t help but grin. Half for them and half for the final chime of his coffee pot. 

He moved to the kitchen, joints moving a little more smoothly now that he was waking up. The coffee still tasted like a godsend and he drank two cups of it while he got the ingredients together to cook breakfast. On a whim he included some bacon and pulled it from the fridge. 

Steve was most of the way through his routine- and halfway through another episode of Spongebob- when there was a knock on the door. It took him by surprise. He checked his phone to make sure there was nothing on his schedule. Sam would be at work. In person visits with clients, since it was still early in the week. If it was a neighbor, it would be a first. He wiped his hands on the dishtowel and moved to the door. 

“Steve, are you there?” The voice made Steve’s stomach drop. 

Instead of answering the door, Steve rushed to the living room. He turned the TV off and tossed some of the twin’s toys where they couldn’t be seen from the door. The twins both protested loudly but Steve motioned for them to be quiet. 

“Daddy has to talk to someone for work.” He told them. “Wanda, take you brother downstairs.” 

Wanda was the calmer twin. She pulled her brother by his arm. “Ok, Daddy.” 

“Pancake when you’re done?” Pietro asked. 

“You bet.” Steve assured him. Then he turned back to the door. 

He wasn’t sure Bucky would even still be out there. Steve yanked the door open a foot or so and poked his head out. He wasn’t giving him an invitation into his home. Bucky was sitting on the stairs with his back to the door but there was a visible reaction when the door opened. Bucky didn’t stand up or turn around. 

“Why are you here?” Steve opened the door and then closed it behind him. Bucky stood. 

“Don’t be mad.” Bucky urged. Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Too late.” Steve warned him. Bucky huffed. 

“I didn’t come here to fight with you again.” He told Steve. Steve fought back a biting retort. 

“Then tell what you are here for.” Steve pressed him. 

“Mikhail-” Bucky barely got the name out before Steve was roaring angrily and shoved Bucky full force off of the porch. Bucky tumbled down the couple of steps and landed with a painful sounding thud on the laid stone walkway. 

“You don’t get to say his name.” Steve screamed at him. 

“He was mine too.” Bucky screamed back at him. Then, with a huff and several deep calming breaths, he tried again. “I am here because you took everything. I want his blanket.” 

“What?” Steve blinked several times at him. 

“I wa-. I want my son’s blanket.” Bucky tried to sound confident but his voice waivered. 

“Now?” Steve was incredulous. It shocked him into a stupor. “You want his blanket now?” 

Bucky shrugged and looked away. “I have only just bought a place. Settled down. Got my head on straight. I didn’t have the room before.” 

“He has been dead for five years.” Steve was struggling to keep himself calm. 

“And I spent most of it either drunk or deployed." Bucky admitted. "Both when I could manage.” 

Steve shook his head. “You don’t get him. You don’t.” 

Bucky snarled at him angrily. “You don’t get to tell me no. He was my son.” 

"You can't make me give it to you." Steve snarled. 

They faced down on the path, Bucky bleeding slightly and both of them breathing heavily. It wasn’t until Steve let the red recede from his vision that he saw something wrong with Bucky’s left arm. It was hard to tell under the leather jacket but it laid differently than it did on his right. Bucky caught him staring and jerked away him angrily. 

“Don’t stare.” He snapped. 

“I’m no- I’m not.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was. Did something happen?” 

“A lot happened.” Bucky snorted. 

The alarm pierced through the awkward pause and Steve remembered with piercing clarity that he’d left the stove on in his panic. He was up the steps and through the door within the spot of a couple of seconds. He could barely see down the hallway due to the smoke. 

“Shit. Shit, shit.” Steve was in the kitchen and could see that while the smoke was thick, the fire hadn’t spread beyond the now destroyed pan. Steve went to put it into the sink and turn on the water but just getting close to it cause him to yank his hand back. It was too hot to touch. 

“Move.” The voice was firm. Steve was pushed out of this way when he didn’t comply. 

Bucky reached out and grabbed the pan and put it in the sink without so much as flinching. When Steve went to stop him and shouted about the heat Bucky just ignored him. Once the pan was dropped and the water on, Steve pulled on Bucky’s arm, expecting to find extreme burns and damage. 

There were none. Instead Bucky was just smirking at him. The hand was metal. 

“That’s from my last deployment.” Bucky wiggled his fingers. “It’s why I was discharged.” 

“Holy shit, Bucky.” Steve yanked back his hands, realizing he was holding them awkwardly long. 

“It’s nothing.” Bucky shrugged a little awkwardly. 

Steve didn’t have a sense of the impending horror until he heard the footsteps on the stairs. Little footsteps. And he saw it register with Bucky only a second or two after it registered with him. It was the twins. He swallowed and winced as the door creaked open. 

“Daddy, is everything ok?” Pietro stuck his head out just enough for Bucky to see him. 

“Everything’s fine, baby.” Steve told him. 

“I’m going to tell Wanda.” He told Steve happily. And then he disappeared. 

For a moment, Bucky said nothing. He didn’t look like he could. Steve just barely fought back the righteous indignation of the fact that Bucky thought he had the right to an opinion on this. He didn’t get one. He left his opinion with the rest of his shit when he moved away. Bucky sank into one of the seats at the kitchen table and put his heads in his hands. 

“Bucky.” Steve tried to gauge Bucky’s mood. He finally looked up and Steve saw his wet cheeks. 

“You’ve made yourself a whole life here.” Bucky said. He was smiling but the look in his eyes was not happy. It was wounded. Hurt. “A good one. Without me. Without Mikhail. Apparently, you never really needed either of us in the first place.” 

“Bucky.” Steve closed his eyes against the accusation to pretend it wasn’t one he wrestled with. 

“It’s true.” Bucky gestured to the house and pictures and Steve himself. 

“It doesn’t mean I didn’t love you both.” Steve insisted. 

“Just that you were ok without us.” Bucky snorted. 

“I had to be. Or, I had to at least try to be.” Steve insisted. 

“Because I left you? Are we circling back to that again? It has been almost a full five minutes since you’ve thrown it in my face.” Bucky snapped at him angrily. Steve figured he deserved that. He couldn’t scream, not with the kids downstairs. “As far as I remember I’m not the one who had divorce papers shipped to the desert.” 

“As far as I remember I had to because you wouldn't fucking leave it.” Steve snapped at him. 

“Oh, well apparently you are just king of rising to the occasion.” Bucky taunted. 

“I was adopting-” Steve started. 

“Mikhail’s replacements.” Bucky snapped. Steve was in Bucky's face in seconds. 

“Don’t you ever call them that in front of me.” Steve’s voice was dangerously calm. Bucky backed down. They were both just staring at each other, angry for wildly different reasons. It was then that Bucky deflated almost entirely. 

“Do you even miss him?” He whispered. 

“I do.” Steve nodded. He rubbed his face. “Every day.” 

“But you have two. Two. A boy and a girl." Bucky shook his head. "Just like we talked about.” 

“I sent you the divorce papers because I was adopting them. I couldn’t tell you what I was doing. I had been so long since we’d even spoken. I couldn’t find the words to explain why I was-” 

“Getting new children?” Bucky interrupted. 

“Getting my children.” Steve said, tone cautious. “And that was your last warning.” 

Bucky help up his hands defensively. “I just don’t know how you could. I still can’t think about much else most days. It’s just everywhere. All the time. And it just hurts so much.” 

“For me too.” Steve admitted. “I have his picture in my room. I told my twins about their bother. My therapist, he said it would probably help. He said I couldn’t hide from Mikhail’s memory. That I could only make progress if I let it have space in my life.” 

“You’ve gotten better.” Bucky said, almost incredulously. He looked jealous. 

“With help.” Steve nodded. Bucky’s mouth turned downwards as he considered the house. 

“I haven’t yet.” He admitted. “Some days it feels like I am never going to be.” 

Steve’s heart hurt. He leaned over and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You will. I did. It’s ok.” 

“I can’t make a life the way you made yours.” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know how.” 

Steve withdrew his hand. “You can make your life whatever you want it to be.” 

“No I can’t. I can’t make miracles.” Bucky said softly. He stood from the table. “I should go.” 

Steve recognized where Bucky was. He remembered being there himself. Almost better but still hurting. But he still had so far to go. He was still in so much pain. Steve wanted to offer him something to help but knew this kind of hurt. Nothing would help. Unless… 

“Bucky.” Steve paused before going to the cabinet by the living room and opening it. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

“You should have this.” Steve pushed the folded piece of blue fabric into Bucky’s hands and watched him feel the small embroidered dinosaurs with his non-metal hand. After a second the other man broke down into sobs and held it to his chest. 

“Thank you.” Bucky barely managed to get the words out. 

“You’ll be ok.” Steve promised him.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact- I sent this to my friend that I was writing drabbles with claiming to have "made it better". The outraged response may have proved me wrong. It does get better from here though!!


End file.
